


On and On

by betp



Series: From Tumblr [12]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 05:39:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5079886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betp/pseuds/betp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wants to show Derek something. Derek is suspicious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On and On

> "So I found this waterfall..." 

Derek waits a beat, but Stiles doesn’t expand. Derek’s immediately suspicious and endlessly weary. “And?” he says irritably.

“And I’m gonna take you to it.”

What lurks there? What has Stiles been dabbling in? Has Stiles discovered the fae? Has he found a sacrificial mound of some kind that Derek will be required to identify? Will there be a set of runic symbols cast into a stone there that, when read aloud, by Derek, will curse the reader, which will be Derek? What has Stiles found that Derek has to be the guinea pig for? “Why.”

“Because I’m gonna abandon you in the wilderness, Derek,” says Stiles, rolling his eyes. “I’m hazing you. You got me. Get in the car, freshman.”

The waterfall in question is small and rather tranquil, if a little boggy. Derek doesn’t trust it; nothing is ever as it seems, in Beacon Hills or anywhere. The echoes of the rushing water seem strange, wrong, until Derek realizes the space between the water and the rock isn’t just an eroded cavern; it’s a cave, deep and dark.

“C'mon,” Stiles says, walking precariously on the stone along the edge of the stream. He jabs a finger up and towards the waterfall. “Behind.”

“Behind,” Derek repeats edgily. The guy can’t even bother with complete sentences right before Derek’s doom. Nonetheless, he follows. Better him than Scott.

Stiles slips behind the waterfall and leads Derek, misty and overheated, through the cave. After a sharp turn, there’s light. It’s more than a cave. It’s a tunnel. And on the other side, the air is thick and warm; the treetops are so thick and close together that the light itself is in hues of jade. Somewhere above his head, Derek can hear the coursing trickle of the water, muted beneath the eponymous score of cicadas. He peers curiously at Stiles, who’s stopped and is standing, head tilted back. “Wanna climb a tree?” he asks Derek perfunctorily.

“What.”

“A tree,” Stiles repeats, glancing at him. “The big, tall things with the green stuff.”

Derek puts a hand on Stiles’ biceps, and then shoves him so hard he stumbles. Stiles looks like he enjoyed it; Derek should have pushed harder. “Why did you bring me here,” he asks flatly.

Stiles’ eyes narrow—not angrily, but with some degree of confrontational perplexion. “So that’s a no to the tree climbing?” Derek feels like his eyes might shatter with the effort not to roll them. Stiles pauses, watching him, and then tells Derek, “Because I wanted to show you.”

“Show me what.”

Stiles makes a violent _look at this_ gesture at the view before them. “ _This_ , I wanted to show you _this_. Look. There’s ivy everywhere.” There are indeed cascades of ivy wound around most of the trees and spilling across the ground. Pouring from branches like discarded clothing tossed over a banister. “And over there, check it. You could, like, sit there with a book or something.” Derek looks where Stiles has thrown his arm out, and there’s an oddly bent tree trunk. Derek doesn’t take his books outside, but it’s the perfect place to sit and breathe for a while. “I know you like peace and quiet. This is peaceful, and it’d be quiet if I wasn’t here.”

“Quiet’s overrated,” says Derek without thinking. Then he freezes, folds his arms, looks away from the reading tree. Scowls at Stiles, who is looking at him, soft and happy. “You wanted to show me this.”

“It’s _nice_ , okay?”

“Yeah. It is.”

“And it’s kind of—I dunno, neat that it’s behind a waterfall. It’s like—what is this, a fairytale?”

“You’d be surprised how many fairytales are based in truth,” muses Derek. The shapes of chartreuse light filtering through the trees move on Stiles’ face with the breeze. Cast in bronzy sunlight, Stiles’ eyelashes look longer than Derek ever thought to notice. “Rumpelstiltskin, for one—”

“Bullshit,” says Stiles.

“Why me.”

“Is—what is that, is that a lamentation? Oh, Stiles is a scourge upon the earth—”

“No. Why not Lydia? Or Scott? Why did you pick _me_ to bring here.”

“What makes you think I haven’t already taken everyone else up here? Every guy thinks he’s the first. Get _over yourself_.” Derek tries to convey how little he believes that, concentrated in his eyes. Stiles folds his arms, unfolds them, and then puts his hands on his hips. “They wouldn't—they wouldn’t appreciate it,” says Stiles a little awkwardly, prim. “I mean, they _would_ , but not—not the way—not the way you would.” He drops his eyes, kicks idly at a dandelion.

Oh. That’s new. _Is_ it new? Derek feels like you do when you get absorbed in a book and then you realize someone’s standing in the room with you. You don’t know how long. They could have just shown up; they could have been standing there for an hour. You have no idea. “Are you courting me?” Derek asks, a mocking little lilt in his voice. Stiles goes viciously red. “Is this a seduction tactic?”

“What?” snaps Stiles, unmoving while Derek drifts closer. “ _No_. What’re you—that’s _crazy_. _I’m_ not, and _you_. You’re a _dick_. Why would I? I don’t like dick. _Dicks_. People who are dickheads. Stop—” He gets a little whiny. “Stop _laughing_ at me. It’s not—” Derek stands close enough that he can see exactly how close they are in height; Stiles always looked tall, but he’s not as tall as he looks. He’s not quite Derek’s height. The hot, red blotches on his cheeks look just as endearing this close. “It’s not,” Stiles mumbles a little helplessly, “it’s _not funny_.”

“It’s not funny,” Derek agrees. “It’s kind of cute, actually.”

“No.”

“Yeah.”

“M'not cute. M'not, okay.”

He sort of sighs, relaxes when Derek kisses him. Deflates, almost, settles more and more the more Derek touches him: his jaw, his wrists, his hips. By the time Derek’s sliding his hands up Stiles’ back, squeezing him closer by his shoulderblades, Stiles is well and truly melting. And he seems solid under Derek’s palms, firm in breadth. Tangible, the way nothing else really is anymore. Stiles is reality, and Derek is learning to appreciate it. Stiles hums a little towards the end of this kiss. When Derek pulls back to look at him, admire the arch of his asymmetrical eyebrows, his eyes stay shut for a long moment. Lashes haphazard and pretty, like he is.

“Um,” Stiles says a little softly. “Wow.” Derek thinks about ridding him of this awful, ugly plaid thing he’s wearing. Or maybe kissing him again. “Gotcha, freshman,” Stiles says, eyes still closed. “This is more hazing.”

“Oh, okay,” says Derek.

“You fell for it.”

“I did, yeah.”

“I bet, um, I bet I could make you do it again.” He opens his eyes now, drowsy, looking slightly drugged. “Against a tree. For a lot longer.”

“You’ve convinced me to go to second base,” Derek deadpans, walking him backwards against a tree trunk.

“Yeah,” Stiles breathes. “At _least_ —” He thumps against the tree, and his gaze drops to Derek’s chest hair. “Get your—put your hands on me.”

Both new and not new, definitely.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been obsessed with passageways behind quaint waterfalls since I saw Disney's Robin Hood as a toddler.


End file.
